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The word on the street is that Oneida built the largest music box on the Eastern US seaboard and used its emanations as the basis for the songs on The Wedding. Damned if I can hear it, though. Maybe it’s a hoax; after all, would you believe everything that men who call themselves Hanoi Jane, Kid Millions, and Bobby Matador have to say?

I don’t know if the music box exists or not, but it wouldn’t be Oneida without a healthy does of what-the-fuckness. They’re heirs to Ringo Starr’s parry of the question about whether he was a mod or a rocker; “I’m a mocker.” They kick out a thrilling rock jam, then cut it short with a line about braiding one’s pubic hair (“Lavender”). They flip without warning from consumptive Black Sabbath-style stomp to floating psychedelic reverie (“Did I Die”).

But joking and rocking aren’t the only arrows in Oneida’s quiver; they’ve added elaborately scored string parts and elaborate, dreamy vocal arrangements to their trademark keyboard flicker and full-frontal drum assault. Their style bag’s just as stuffed; they hopscotch from twangy, reverb-laden dirges to fragile folk to herky-jerky synth-pop to baroque pop.

Oneida have never sounded more ambitious, yet they’ve kept their proggy impulses on a short leash; the flourishes serve the music, not vice versa. They might be winding us up with that music box story, but who cares? This is one record worth winding up the old Victrola to spin over and over again.